Confront Nothing
by royaltyjunk
Summary: Nobody wants it to be real, he knows that, and when Yumeno calls for him from the kitchen, he shakes off the thoughts of that god-forsaken killing game and forces himself to pretend there's nothing wrong with the world even when there is.


Summary:

Nobody wants it to be real, he knows that, and when Yumeno calls for him from the kitchen, he shakes off the thoughts of that god-forsaken killing game and forces himself to pretend there's nothing wrong with the world even when there is.

 _Author's Ideas:_

 _SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS GO BACK IF YOU HAVEN'T COMPLETED V3_

 _gUESS WHO'S WRITING FIC WHILE SHE SHOULD BE DOING OTHER THINGS_

 _Ha ha ha look at me showing my face and writing emo things ha ha_

 _Oh yeah I'm using the traditional Japanese name thing. So it'll be "last name, first name" and I'll be referring to the characters with their last names. Just because I'm so used to that_

 _This fic's title for a whole month was "saihara-centric fic where I rip apart his feelings" so that should give you a good idea of what this whole thing is going to be about_

 _Disclaimer: Don't own it._

* * *

Confront Nothing

* * *

The sound of a moving bookcase fills his ears, a puddle of blood catches the corner of his eye, and he turns his head. There, collapsed and crumpled on the floor, is a man with green hair, a boy that he had once called Amami who can now only be called a corpse, a dead body, a victim of the killing game.

Then he watches despairingly as feet connect with piano keys, as her face goes red and blue, then purple, until she's dead and swinging unsteadily in front of a wall of spikes that destroy her, the Akamatsu Kaede he knew, the Akamatsu Kaede he loved, and he collapses to his feet, unable to comprehend anything except her last words to him, her wish.

The water is crystal clear and there he is. Hoshi Ryoma, the Ultimate Tennis Pro, who killed a gang of mafia for the one he loved, floats in the tank, weighed down by a pair of handcuffs that mean little to the piranhas that attack him and send the water swirling into a whirlpool of death; of blood and flesh and bones and handcuffs that once were a classmate of his.

Then he finds that he can't even see Toujou on the vine she's climbing but he's vouching for her, yelling at her in his mind to escape, to run and get away, but in the blink of an eye the world they thought they saw was just a crude crayon drawing, and the vine she's climbing on snaps, and she plummets to the ground, a scarred and marred body that may have been the classmate that took care of them. Saihara doesn't know.

Akamatsu and Amami and Hoshi and Toujou are all staring at her upside-down, and Saihara can feel the bile building up in his throat and he gags, holding his hand to his mouth when he sees Yonaga Angie, the creator of those eerily perfect wax dolls lying in the center of her own smeared blood. The scene changes, but the bile in his throat doesn't go away, because they find Chabashira's body immediately after the necromancy, and there's something so vile about killing two classmates at once that Saihara doesn't know what to do except weep harder that night.

Then even after they find out the disgusting man Shinguuji really is, and even after he's killed by his own sister, the person he god damn loved, and even after everyone knows he's dead but couldn't really care, Saihara can't help but feel sorry for him. He'd grown to respect the man's presence and knowledge, and to feel his absence was unsettling in the most disturbing way.

He feels the visor drop onto his foot when he sees Iruma's tortured face, her eyes rolled back and her white sclera showing, her blue irises barely showing, and he stumbles back into his chair and stares at Iruma's body with a look that can only be described as despair.

Then bugs are attacking the muscular teenager and the computer tied to a pole, his face puffy with stings, and then Monophanie and Monotaro are lying as scraps of machinery beside the great bug that erupts from them, and the huge bug tears through the air and slams its blade-like arm through Gokuhara Gonta, the kind entomologist who had always wanted to be a gentlemen, who had wanted to protect his friends at any cost.

The sound of Harukawa's knife falling to the floor pierces the silence of the Exisal hanger, the silence that hangs over all of them because of the green crushing machine that spills over with red blood, and the thing that catches Saihara's eye above it all is the purple sleeve hanging out of the crusher, that familiar purple jacket that Momota wears everywhere, and Harukawa falls to her knees as Saihara stumbles backwards, something in him screaming that Momota can't be dead, no one would want him dead, Momota -

Then he's watching as the spaceship comes flying up through the ground, and the door swings open, and there is Momota, his friend Momota, laying in a pool of his own blood as he smiles, and all Saihara can do is watch Harukawa scream and wail as she holds his lifeless body in her arms.

The school is collapsing, and K1-B0 continues to tear down the buildings. Saihara's buried under a pile of rubble, but as Saihara slips out of consciousness he sees a large boulder crush Shirogane in an explosion of blood, and he can't help but feel proud that he's finally stopped these horrible games.

Then they awaken them alive, miraculously, to a hole blown in the Wall, and K1-B0's remains scattered under their feet, and Saihara knows he hasn't been forced to go through the killing game again, it's all a dream but it feels so real, so tangible, so -

He falls off the bed, and his head hits the floor in a loud thump. Pain jolts him awake, and out of instinct, he mutters, "Ow."

And just like that, the nightmares that haunt him every night are gone to the morning, and he sits up, rubbing the back of his head. His long black hair ruffles beneath his touch, and he sighs. He needs a haircut, and soon. Maybe Harukawa can help him.

There's a knock on his door. "Saihara…? Are you alright…?"

"I'm fine, Yumeno," he grunts, slowly standing and opening the door, glancing down at the short woman. "Did you need something?"

She shakes her head, her long red hair falling around her. "No… I just heard a thump from your room and came to see what it was…"

"I'm fine, Yumeno. I just fell off my bed. Who's turn is it to cook today?"

"Mine… I'm going to go now…"

"Alright, Yumeno. If you need help, just call for me or Harukawa, okay?"

"Harukawa won't respond… I'll just call for you…"

Saihara lets out an awkward chuckle. "I suppose you're right."

He shuts the door and hears Yumeno shuffle down the hallway.

The three of them have ended up living together in a remote corner of Okinawa, in a small house meant for three people, just like them. They've been given the house by Team Danganronpa, for "giving them the best ending to Danganronpa they could ask for", even promising to keep their location secret. Harukawa had hissed at them to refuse the house, but Saihara had argued that they couldn't possibly live anywhere else without paparazzi and fans flooding their house, and keeping their location was crucial. Harukawa hadn't spoken to him for two weeks afterwards, but now she acknowledges that his choice was right.

The thoughts bring him back to the nightmares, and the nightmares bring him back to the killing game, that stupid killing game that had ruined their entire lives, all of their lives.

Nobody wants it to be real, he knows that, and when Yumeno calls for him from the kitchen, he shakes off the thoughts of that god-forsaken killing game and forces himself to pretend there's nothing wrong with the world even when there is.

~ / . / . / ~

The lock to their front door clicks, and Saihara's in the doorway immediately. Harukawa brushes past him, her hands full.

"Wait, Harukawa-san - "

"There are more groceries in the car," she replies, setting down the multiple bags in her arms. She pulls open the refrigerator violently, and Saihara knows better than to ask her what happened now. It was something Harukawa would do eventually.

He slips from the house and hurries to the black car in the garage, its trunk still open. He grabs the remaining bags and slams the trunk shut.

"Be nicer with my car," Harukawa mutters when he comes back into the house.

"Oh, sorry."

She shrugs, taking out the contents of another bag. He follows suit, packing away the bagged vegetables and fruit into the fridge.

"...Someone recognized me," Harukawa speaks up, "and tried to follow me home."

Saihara looks at her. Truthfully, it's not too hard to recognize Harukawa behind her short, choppy hair, the purple jacket draped over her body, the colored contacts she wears. It's the best they can do, though, when their facial features have been memorized by crazy fans and paparazzi. That's why only Harukawa is allowed out of the house - she's the easiest to hide, she's the person who's best at seeming like she's a normal person.

"Please don't tell me you - "

"I didn't," she responds instantly. "They told me our season was dumb when I confronted them, then left."

Saihara doesn't say anything; simply shuts the refrigerator door and makes to go back to his room.

"Wait, Saihara."

Saihara turns to see Harukawa pull out a bottle of scotch from the final bag. He steps back inside the kitchen immediately, reaching for glasses. She smiles, and pulls out the cork with little trouble.

"You should stop doing that. One day you're going to shatter the glass bottle."

Harukawa sighs and rolls her eyes, but pours him a glass filled to the brim when he places the glasses in front of her.

"We should stop drinking so often," Saihara murmurs, leaning against the counter as he takes a sip of his scotch.

"You know we're not going to stop anytime soon," Harukawa retorts, downing a large gulp of her drink.

Saihara shrugs, but he can't ignore the truth in her words. There's something comforting about drinking, but not in the way he wants it to be comforting. It's comforting in the way that punching someone is, satisfying in the way that breaking something is.

"I don't even think I know what I'm drinking for," Saihara mutters in the heat of the moment. The alcohol's hitting him already, he can tell. He never could hold his drink that well. "There's so much."

"Give me one thing," Harukawa demands, "one god damn thing, you overly emotional young adult."

"Akamatsu-san." The name falls from his lips before he can stop and even think about it.

"...You too, huh." Harukawa snorts, and she slams her fist into the counter. "They tampered with our minds… those assholes…"

"No. I've just… always been like this. For as long as I can remember. Which doesn't say much."

"What do you mean?"

Saihara takes a long sip of his drink. "I… don't know, honestly. I've always fallen in love easily. And after everything Akamatsu did…" he lets out a bitter laugh. "How could I not? I haven't even been able to get over her, even after all these years."

Harukawa, for once, hums in agreement. "Yeah. I think I've always been like that too."

It's then that Saihara realizes Harukawa's been speaking like Momota all these past few years. The way her words are spoken, and the swear words thrown in, it all seemed so obvious, he can't believe he missed it - a detective like him missed something so different about his friend, and he realizes it when he's drunk. He can't believe himself.

"To Momota," he murmurs, and even in his drunken stupor he can't crack a smile. Harukawa touches her glass to his.

"To Akamatsu."

~ / . / . / ~

"Yumeno," Harukawa frowns. "Have you gotten taller?"

"Hm…? I think so. My clothes aren't fitting that well anymore…"

"I can see that. Wow, are you actually growing?" She crosses her arms, looking Yumeno up and down. Saihara scratches the back of his neck, laughing.

"She definitely is. A rather late bloomer, aren't you?"

"Well… yeah… I'm twenty one, and just now hitting puberty…" Yumeno grumbles, and Harukawa grins coyly.

"Isn't the cut off usually nineteen or so?" Saihara asks, frowning.

"Nyeh… Did I set a new record for the latest age to hit puberty?"

Saihara shrugs, and Harukawa shakes her head.

"I don't know, but we're not calling those World Record collector assholes over."

"Definitely not."

Saihara shakes his head wordlessly. They don't need the attention - the people crowding to see them, the paparazzi asking for interviews and spouting crazy questions, the fans screeching and squealing. They have enough of a reminder of their dependence on the team they had given up their sanity for. Every month, a pile of checks come in, enclosed in an envelope with the Team Danganronpa logo etched on it, sealed with stamps of them in the 53rd season.

They're checks from Team Danganronpa, who give them checks for a lifetime because the 53rd season is "undoubtedly worth all of our money". It's hard to accept them, hard to feed them into the ATM, hard to flip through the cash they get and hard to stare at the total accumulating in their credit cards. All three of them know it's for the best, though. They wouldn't be able to get by if they didn't.

"Saihara…" Yumeno calls, and he snaps back to reality. He looks over at her.

"What is it?"

"How much taller do I have to grow?" she inquires, standing with her back to Harukawa's back. Harukawa laughs and doesn't pull away, glancing over at Saihara.

He stares at Yumeno and Harukawa, and then he realizes just how much Yumeno's grown, and disgustingly he's reminded of Saionji Hiyoko, a Danganronpa character he knows his previous self absolutely loved, and he realizes just how much he hates Team Danganronpa for ruining his life for him - every aspect of his life.

~ / . / . / ~

He can't say he's not surprised when he stumbles through the darkness into the kitchen and through the glass door sees Yumeno in the backyard puffing smoke from her mouth, a cigarette in her hands.

"Yumeno," he calls as he opens the doorway, and she starts, turning to look over her shoulder at him.

"...Saihara," she murmurs. "I didn't expect you to be up at this time."

"What time is it?" he asks, his shoulder leaning against the doorway.

"Two or three in the morning…" she responds, her breath smoky. "...Did you know I do this often?"

"I knew there was a reason for the smoke I faintly smell all the time when I fall asleep."

"I thought so… You always talk yourself to sleep… talking to one or two until you fall asleep… of course you'd know."

"So you knew."

"Harukawa told me… That's why I never bothered you when we first moved in and I'd get nightmares… I'd always go to Harukawa's room…"

Saihara shuts his eyes and sighs, a wash of tiredness coming over him.

"Hey, Saihara…"

"Hm?" He opens his eyes, tilting his head.

"When you talk to yourself… you pretend that you're talking to Akamatsu, don't you…?" Yumeno questions gently, looking over her shoulder at him.

"...Yes." A gaping hole opens in his heart, and he must reflect it on his face, or in his eyes, because Yumeno looks at her feet, her face full of shame.

"...Sorry. I… don't even understand what you and Harukawa are going through…"

"It's okay. But… try not to smoke as much," he murmurs. "I can't say that I'm doing better, and I can't say that Harukawa is either, but… I want you to do better, Yumeno. I think she does too."

"Mm… I'll try," she mutters as she drops the stub of tobacco to the ground and crushes the butt of her cigarette under her heel. He steps inside and shuts the door to the backyard. He ignores the fact that Yumeno pulls out another cigarette immediately after, and feels his heart go numb as he downs a can of beer in the fridge meant for Harukawa.

~ / . / . / ~

"I'm going out with someone tomorrow," Harukawa tells them over dinner, and Saihara almost chokes on his spaghetti.

"Wait, what?" he asks, coughing.

"Really?" Yumeno questions, her eyes sparkling. "Who?"

"He's just the clerk at the grocery store. That's all. He asked me to go to dinner with him, and I agreed. I don't see no reason why…" she trails off, and Saihara's fingers tighten around his fork.

He knows what she wants to say. She wants to say that she doesn't see a reason not to agree. She wants to say it, she really does. But Saihara knows she can't say it. There's a name branded in her mind, a person's touch branded on her body that will never go away no matter how much she tries. She will never forget him, but she sure can try.

It makes Saihara shudder, how Harukawa is changing. She's gone from cold and uncaring to someone who wants to change, who wants to be different, but there's something off about the way she's changing or trying to, because it's so much like the last time she tried to change, and everyone at the table knows what happened to her after that, mainly because the result is sitting right there, telling them she's going to change.

So it's truly not a surprise to Saihara when Harukawa comes storming into the house, her face streaming with dried tears and smeared mascara. Saihara and Yumeno are out of their rooms in an instant, next to Harukawa immediately when she drops onto the couch, punching angrily at the arm of the couch. There's a fist-shaped indent in the leather that slowly fades away, and Harukawa runs a hand through the hair that reaches down to her back now.

"What happened?" Yumeno questions softly, kneeling in front of Harukawa. Saihara leans against the wall next to the couch. "You said you were going out, weren't you?"

"I can't do it," Harukawa rubs at her eyes, but doesn't bother wiping away the rest of the tears that fall down her cheeks. "I can't…"

"Did he do something?" Saihara inquires, and Harukawa nods slowly. "What did he do?"

"He… said he had a surprise… and then he took me to the… the planetarium."

Harukawa's words are soft, but Saihara freezes up as soon as she says that. Yumeno sniffles softly, sitting beside Harukawa. The brown-haired woman shifts to rest her head against Yumeno's shoulder.

"He asked me why I would have fallen in love with a lame guy like Momota. He was Momota's friend. He knew him… and he hated him. And he tried to…" Harukawa's fingers twitch angrily, curling into fists, and Saihara sits on the other side of her. He stares at her fists, watching her long nails dig into her palm, leaving crescent-shaped marks.

"I'm sorry, Harukawa…" he murmurs, and Yumeno rubs her back gently. Harukawa sniffles, and Saihara can't help but rest a hand on her shoulder when he sees the tears crawling down her cheek.

"I wish I could move on…" she sobs, drawing her knees into her chest. "That idiot… he…" Those words, the way she speaks them. The Harukawa from the killing game, the Harukawa he'd seen grow had come back. He squeezes her shoulder, pulls her into a one-armed hug.

"I know," Saihara murmurs softly, and she bows her head, letting the tears fall onto her legs, staining her old red leggings. Yumeno braids Harukawa's hair, ties it with her old red scrunchies. For once, they relive the pain of the killing game together.

He knows they can't recover unless everyone they've ever lost comes back, but that's impossible. Those deaths were real, those executions were real and that killing game was real.

He knows it's all real, and nobody wants to confront it. They will, eventually. He knows they will.

But for now, they can't. And they won't.


End file.
